Bea's Place: Scrabble
A gift for my readers!
Jo’s text arrived at the same time Bea was pouring her first cup of coffee.
“Arriving at noon. No need to pick me up. I can take the subway.”
“I want to pick you up,” Bea texted back. “I’ll meet you at arrivals.”
For fun, she added the personal emoji her granddaughter Danielle made for her. It had short salt and pepper hair with purple highlights and large purple glass frames that had cost Bea a fortune but were worth it because they perfectly matched her highlights. The emoji was a lot thinner than she was, but that was fine with Bea. She typed in “Can’t wait to see you,” and found a picture of herself riding a skateboard. The message said “STOKED.” Jo would love it.
Bea had known Jo for two years. First, they were covid walking buddies, then they became friends, and then they became lovers. But Jo liked to be on the move, and as soon as covid travel restrictions to Asia were lifted, she took off. Jo was a journalist who had travelled all around the world, most of it on a motorcycle. Recently, she’d given up her bike for the bus and train. She still worked as a freelancer, mostly on travel pieces. At the moment she was living in Thailand but had come back to visit her mother and sister in Montreal and spend Christmas and New Year’s with Bea in Toronto. Jo’s last visit to see Bea had been a year ago. Since then, Bea had retired and wanted to spend more time with Jo. She was hoping Jo would feel the same way.
A minute after the message to Jo whooshed into cyberspace, Bea’s phone dinged. Bea smiled. Jo was stoked too. But the text wasn’t from Jo. It was from her daughter Mimi.
“Danielle sprained her ankle at the recital. At least it was after her solo. Solo was great, but now Xmas dance camp is out. D devastated. She wants to come see you. I found a flight to Toronto leaving this afternoon. Can we come? Just the two of us. Rob has to work over Xmas.”
Bea wanted to say no. Mimi and Jo didn’t like each other much. Jo was a big personality and a great storyteller. She could keep a room entertained for hours. Mimi was quieter. When they were together, Mimi and Jo often competed for Bea’s attention. Bea was living in the first-floor apartment of her house while the kitchen in the top floor apartment was being renovated. Putting Jo and Mimi together in 700 square feet for a week was asking for trouble. But she couldn’t say no to Danielle. Not on Christmas Eve.
Danielle and Bea had a special connection, even though Danielle lived in Vancouver and Bea lived in Toronto. The week before, Danielle had texted Bea a message all about her solo.
Hi Nana:
Last night the moon seemed to be talking to me. It was saying, “Stop it! Stop it right now! Stop worrying!”. I was worried about learning steps for my solo. I’m still making so many mistakes! And my jetés aren’t high enough. But the moon told me not to worry. It said every time I have a solo I’m always ready in time. And my jetés are fine. Nana, the moon sounded just like you. Did you talk to the moon?
Love, Danielle
“Yes, you can come,” texted Bea, “but Jo will be here too.”
Bea held her breath waiting for Mimi’s answer. Maybe she’d change her mind. She hoped she would.
“No problem. We’ll all get along just fine.”
Bea wasn’t so sure. She’d just have to do her best to keep Danielle and Mimi busy so she and Jo had enough time alone. Bea really wanted her visit with Jo to go well so Jo would invite her to Thailand.
“Okay,” Bea texted back to Mimi. “See you tomorrow.”
Mimi wrote back immediately with an emoji of her lying down at Bea’s feet in gratitude. “THANK YOU.”
Next, Bea wrote a text to Danielle. “Sorry to hear about your ankle, but so happy you’re coming to visit! I love you.” A small heart automatically appeared after “I love you” and Bea sent the message out. Then she made her way downstairs and knocked on Sydney’s door.
Sydney was a visual artist doing graduate work at OCAD, the Ontario College of Art and Design. They’d recently moved into the basement apartment of the house. Although they didn’t know each very well, Sydney had told Bea to let them know if she ever needed a hand with anything.
Sydney opened the door wearing boxers and a tank top that showed off the sunflower tats on their shoulders.
“Oh! I hope I didn’t wake you!” said Bea.
“No, just having a slow morning. What’s up?”
“I just found out my daughter and granddaughter from Vancouver are coming for a visit and I have to pick up Jo at the train station in less than an hour. Can you help me get the second bedroom ready?”
“Sure. Let me get a sweater.”
As they were putting clean sheets on the bed in the second bedroom, Sydney pointed to the photo of Danielle, Mimi and Rob on the night table.
“I didn’t know Danielle’s dad was Black.”
“I never mentioned it?”
“I don’t think so. So, Danielle identifies as biracial?
“‘Mixed.’ That’s what she says. ‘I’m mixed. My dad’s Black and my mum’s White.’”
Sydney nodded. “Same here. My dad’s Black and my mum’s White. And Jewish. I’m half Jewish.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I never mentioned it?”
Bea laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Sydney laughed too. “So how do they like living in Vancouver?”
“They like it a lot. Rob’s a doctor at St. Paul’s, in the emergency unit. He’s working this Christmas. Mimi’s a social worker, doing some training in dementia care, and Danielle spends as much time as she can in dance classes.”
As Sydney reached for a clean pillowcase, they rolled up the sleeves of their sweater. The tattoo on their wrist spelled out ‘genderqueer.’ Bea wondered what Jo would say if she saw it.
“Did you hear about the snowstorm?” asked Sydney.
“I heard. Jo will get here before it starts, but I’m not sure about Mimi and Danielle.”
“I’m supposed to fly to New York tonight.”
“That’s exciting! Who’s in New York?”
“Friends. And I want to see Charles White’s work at the MoMA again. He was a portrait artist whose work was part of the Black struggle in the States.”
“Just like you!” said Bea. Bea had seen some of Sydney’s Black activist portraits online.
“It’s more like I’m just like him. And Syrus Marcus Ware. They both led the way. Have you seen Syrus’ work?”
Bea shook her head.
“It’s fabulous,” said Sydney, pulling out their phone and typing the URL to Ware’s website. “Here’s a photo of some of the portraits they did for their Activist Portrait Series. Most of these folks are unknown outside their own communities.”
Bea reached for the phone Sydney offered her and took a look at Ware’s larger-than-life portraits on paper that were 10-feet by 12-feet.
“Wow,” she said.
“Can you imagine how amazing it is to have an artist create this huge portrait of you? Kings and queens get portraits. Rich people get portraits. Everyday folks don’t get portraits. Activists don’t get portraits.”
“You’d feel like your work was being recognized. Acknowledged. Celebrated.”
“Exactly.” Sydney looked down at their watch. “You better get going if you want to meet Jo’s train on time.”
“Okay, thanks! What time are you leaving to the airport?” asked Bea.
“My flight’s at 8:00. But I’m going to head out to the airport early to beat the storm and maybe get on an earlier flight.”
“Good idea. Good luck. And thanks so much for your help!”
“No problem. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Bea arrived at Union Station 10 minutes before Jo’s train from Montreal was due. The train was on time, Jo was in high spirits, and they held hands all the way back to Bea’s apartment catching up on Jo’s time in Montreal. Her visit with her mum and sister’s family went well. They’d gone skating on Beaver Lake, hung out at contemporary art gallery at the museum, saw a play at the Centaur. All the things Jo loved to do in Montreal.
After a lunch of ham sandwiches, quinoa salad and chocolate brownies, Bea turned on some Motown, prepared a hot bath, lit some candles and sprinkled in several drops of jasmine oil.
Jo got in first. “Mmm, jasmine.”
Bea laughed, climbed into the tub, and leaned against her. Jo kissed Bea’s neck in that special spot she liked, and they were off.
Later, over a glass of red wine, Bea broke the news. Mimi and Danielle would be arriving in a few hours. If the snow held off.
Bea could see Jo wasn’t happy. “Maybe their flight will be cancelled and we’ll get a few more days alone together,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Mimi and Danielle’s flight wasn’t cancelled. By the time Mimi called from the airport, the snow was falling fast and furious. The lineup for taxis was two hours long and Mimi’s UBER app wasn’t working. Danielle was travelling with crutches and couldn’t walk very far. They were stuck. Jo took the phone out of Bea’s hands and told Mimi to get on the airport bus. It would leave them off at The Royal York Hotel downtown. The subway was still working. Bea and Jo would meet them at the hotel where the bus dropped them off. Jo would carry Danielle piggyback from the hotel to the subway and then from the subway to Bea’s apartment.
“Are you sure?” asked Bea. “She’s twelve now.”
“But she’s still small, right?”
“She’s still small.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Bea smiled. Once a butch, always a butch.
Bea’s family left the subway station and walked into the howling wind, Danielle riding through storm on Jo’s back. When they finally made it up the stairs into the apartment, Bea made everyone hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches. The mood was triumphant. Mimi and Danielle were relieved to find themselves safe and warm in Bea’s cozy apartment and kept thanking Jo for rescuing them from a night at one of the airport hotels. As she refilled Danielle’s cup of hot chocolate, Bea allowed herself a small moment of gratitude for the cheerful reunion.
The next morning, Christmas morning, it was still heavily snowing but everyone was in a good mood.
Mimi had packed the presents Bea had mailed to Vancouver, as well as the gifts she and Danielle had bought for Bea and each other. There was even a gift card for Jo from the Apple store at the airport.
“I wrapped your presents in blue and white paper Nana,” said Danielle. “Because you celebrate Chanukah, not Christmas.”
“Thank you, my love. That’s very thoughtful.”
“Is it true that when mum was little you used to give eight Chanukah presents? One for every night of Chanukah.”
“It’s true. But they were small presents.”
“Like what?”
“Like stickers, and crazy socks.”
“I’m really lucky. I get Chanukah presents from mum and Christmas presents from Dad.”
“You are lucky. Did you light the menorah this year?”
“Of course. And we made latkes and played the dreidel game. The only thing that was missing was you! But now at least we can have Christmas together.”
Bea laughed and went over to hug Danielle. “It’s great that you made it here in the snowstorm.”
Danielle smiled. “Thanks to Jo!”
Jo smiled back. “Happy to help.” She walked to stand beside Bea and put her arm around Bea’s shoulders. Bea reached for Jo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Maybe they’d make it through Christmas without too much drama, thought Bea.
After everyone had opened their gifts, Jo made them pancakes and bacon. But then at 11:23, the lights went out. So did the heat. Jo checked her phone to get some news. There was a blackout across the city. The snow plows couldn’t get out, and the subway and buses had stopped running. They were stuck in Bea’s apartment for the rest of Christmas day.
Bea texted Sydney. “Did you make it to New York? If not, come upstairs if it gets too cold or you feel like company.”
An hour later, everyone was huddled under the blankets and quilts they’d taken off Bea’s beds. Danielle, her ankle raised on a footstool, snuggled up against Bea watching The Nutcracker on her phone. Jo, sitting on the other side of Bea, looked over towards Danielle.
“You should save the battery on your phone,” she said, a little sharp, a little bossy. “We don’t know long the electricity will be off.”
“It’s okay,” replied Danielle not taking her eyes off the screen. “I’ve got it on low power mode.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you later.”
“How about some lunch?” asked Bea, changing the subject.
“Great idea mum,” said Mimi. “Want some help?”
“I’ll help,” said Jo getting up and pulling Bea off the couch.
“Okay. Mimi come take my place and keep Danielle warm.”
Bea and Jo were on their way to the kitchen when Sydney arrived at the door carrying a scrabble game. They were bundled up in a winter parka, scarf, and woollen gloves.
“Thanks for inviting me up. It’s absolutely freezing in my apartment.”
“Just in time for lunch,” said Bea giving Sydney a hug. “Merry Christmas. I’m sorry you didn’t get to New York.”
“Me too. But I’ve rescheduled my flight. I’ll be there for New Year’s Eve. Hi everyone, I’m Sydney. My pronouns are ‘they’ and ‘them’.”
Mimi jumped in. “I’m Mimi, Bea’s daughter, and I use ‘she’ and ‘her’. This is Danielle.”
“I use ‘she’ and ‘her’ too,” said Danielle.
Jo rolled her eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” said Sydney turning to Jo. “And you must be Jo. Want to play some scrabble?”
“Sure,” said Bea before Jo could say no. “You set up the game, we’ll be back in a minute.”
“What are you watching?” Sydney asked Danielle.
“The Nutcracker and the Four Realms. Keira Knightly is The Sugar Plum Fair and Misty Copeland is The Ballerina.”
“I love Misty Copeland,” said Sydney.
“Me too!” answered Danielle.
“I’ve seen her dance in person.”
Danielle’s eyes opened wide. “You’ve seen Misty Copeland dance?!”
“Yeah, it was pretty special.”
“Do you dance?” asked Danielle.
“No. I draw and paint. But I know you dance.”
Danielle nodded. “I take ballet, jazz and tap and hip hop.”
“That’s a lot of classes.”
“I know. They’re very expensive. Nana pays for half of them.”
“Which do you like best?”
“Ballet, even though it’s sometimes weird to be the only Black girl in the class.”
Bea and Jo brought out some cheese, crackers, olives, and beer, and everyone gathered around Bea’s tiny dining room table. Everyone but Danielle, who was deep into Keira Knightley’s dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
The scrabble game began peacefully enough. Mimi went first and spelt the word “dance.” Bea used the “c” to spell “clash.”
Jo used the last letter of “clash” to spell out hot. It didn’t give her a lot of points, but she seemed was pleased enough, thought Bea. The trouble started when Sydney used the “s” of clash to spell trans.
“That doesn’t count,” said Jo.
“Trans?” asked Bea.
“Yeah. It’s an abbreviation of transgender. Abbreviations aren’t allowed.”
“It’s not only an abbreviation,” said Mimi. “It’s also an umbrella term.”
“For what?” asked Jo.
“For people who identify as transgender, transsexual or non-binary.”
Jo asked Bea for a dictionary.
To keep the peace, Bea lied. “Sorry, I don’t have one.”
Sydney rolled up the sleeves of her parka and straightened up the letters on the board.
Jo looked at the tattoo on her wrist. “What’s genderqueer?”
“It means I don’t like to be boxed in. My gender and sexuality are fluid and – ”
“Everyone wants to be fluid, these days. People who used to call themselves butch are transitioning so they can look more like men. What’s wrong with being a butch?”
Bea gave Jo a pleading look.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a butch. If you’re happy being a butch, that’s great. Live and let live, right?” said Sydney.
“Then why do I feel like a dinosaur?” asked Jo.
Before Bea could respond, Mimi jumped in. “Well, that’s on you,” she said.
Bea saw Jo’s hands clench.
“When I was six, I was obsessed with dinosaurs,” said Danielle.
“I remember,” said Bea trying to ease the tension. “The Tyrannosaurus-Rex was your favourite, right?”
“Yup,” Danielle nodded
Jo got up from the scrabble game, walked over to the window and stared out at the snow. It was beginning to slow down.
“I think I’ll go out for a walk,” she said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Bea.
“No, stay here and finish the game. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, but wear my boots and coat. Yours aren’t warm enough.”
An hour later, when Jo came back, the scrabble game was winding down. She took off Bea’s coat and boots and slipped into the bedroom. Bea followed her.
They lay down on the bed together, wrapped up under the extra blanket from the trunk at the front of the bed. It smelled like cedar.
Bea took Jo’s hand. “You know,” she said carefully, “Every generation needs to figure out how to be queer for themselves.”
“I hate feeling obsolete.”
“You’ll never be obsolete.” Bea kissed Jo’s hand.
“And not being seen.”
“Everyone hates not being seen.”
“I think I need to go back to Montreal until I go back to Bangkok. There’s too many people here.”
Bea began fussing with the blanket, pulling it tightly around them so Jo wouldn’t see her cry.
“Come with me,” said Jo. “We can go walking on the mountain, eat out restaurants, go to the movies.”
“All the things I planned for us to do here.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“So come.”
“And leave Mimi and Danielle here alone? With no heat?”
“The heat will be back on soon.”
Bea shifted on the bed so she could look Jo straight in the eye.
“You know,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Things are different now that I’m not working. Being a principal and running a school used to take up every hour of every day. There were always people around. Teachers, kids, parents. Seeing you at Christmas and for a few weeks in the summer was fine. That was all the holiday I had.”
As she spoke, Bea’s voice gained strength. “But now for the first time in thirty years I have time. Lots of time. And I haven’t figured out how I want to spend it. Except for one thing. I want to spend more time with you. I want to come to Bangkok for a few weeks. See where you live, meet your neighbours, go sightseeing. Are you up for it?”
“You might not like me as much if we spend all that time together,” said Jo.
“I’ll give you as much space as you need.”
Jo didn’t answer.
“Let’s try it and see what happens,” Bea tried.
Jo shook her head. “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
“Okay.” Bea squeezed Jo’s hand and let it go. To hide her disappointment, she sat up, moved to edge of the bed, and bent over to put on her sneakers.
“What about Montreal?” asked Jo.
Bea took a second to tie up the laces of her second shoe and then turned around to face Jo.
“What if I come for New Year’s Eve and stay for a few days,” she asked. Maybe, Bea thought, by then Jo would think it would be okay for her to fly back to Thailand with her.
Jo reached over and kissed Bea’s forehead. “Deal.”
Mimi knocked on the door and asked if they were hungry.
When Bea and Jo walked out of the bedroom, the room was lit up with candles. Mimi and Sydney had set up a humungous buffet. Talk was quiet and gentle. Mimi asked Jo about Thailand. Jo talked about the lovely ex-pat community she was part of, new friends who were writers and taught English, how they’d go out to the night market several times a week and about the trip she’d taken to an elephant sanctuary in Chiang Rai. Danielle wanted to know what it was like to ride an elephant. Around 8:00 the lights came back on, but Bea quickly turned them off to keep the softness of the evening alive.
The next morning, as soon as the subway was up and running again, Jo was off. Bea wanted to go down to Union Station to see Jo off but Jo asked her not to.
“I hate long good-byes,” she said. So instead, Bea took her favourite red wool scarf from the basket in the hall closet and wrapped it around Jo’s neck. Then she kissed her good-bye at the front door and watched her stride off down the street with a butch swag nobody but Jo could pull off. Bea loved that swag.
Thank you for reading “Scrabble,” I hoped you enjoyed it! It is the first short story in a series I’m calling, Bea’s Place. The second short story, “New Year’s,” will come out in a week. If you’d like to read more stories set in Bea’s Place, please let me know by liking the story. You can also email me at gaileyroad@gmail.com.